


here we go (just lose control and let your body give in)

by viansian



Category: Bellarke-fandom, The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And Parentheses, F/M, Mild Smut, Quite a bit of swearing, Unwanted Attraction, nothing too graphic though, there are a lot of parentheses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 04:54:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1885836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viansian/pseuds/viansian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The line between love and lust does not exist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	here we go (just lose control and let your body give in)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blackravenswing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackravenswing/gifts).



> All right. I'm not really sure what this is, it's just kind of something I started writing and it spiraled into an 8,000 word, present-tense fic that had a lot of parentheses and swearing. With that said, enjoy! The title is taken from the song, Start a Fire by Ryan Star (which also happens to be my most recent favorite song but whatever.) Oh and also, shout out to blackravenswing. I fell in love with her writing, somehow bumped her on tumblr, only to realize that she had read my 'five times' fic and actually liked it too. So, anywho, go check out her stuff, her writing is phenomenal! Ok. I'm done.

            Bellamy hates her (he’s always hated her). It’s one of the only things he’s sure of, one of the few thing that are consistent on this god forsaken planet (he’s relatively certain she hates him too).

            It hits him out of nowhere, like a storm that materializes on a cloudless day. One second she screaming that he can’t just go around punching people he doesn’t like and he’s yelling that he’ll do whatever the hell he wants to do when suddenly he realizes how _close_ they are (he instantly wishes he hadn’t because now he’s acutely aware of the smell of herbs in her hair and the tiny scar on her lower lip that of course he’d never noticed before because why would he be looking at her lips?).

            She takes his suddenly silence as a confirmation that he agrees with whatever bullshit she had just spouted (he had been too enraptured by his sudden awareness of her to actually listen to her words) and tells him that she needs to go check on the kid who’s nose he just broke.

            He’s too shocked to react as she whirls around and strides out of the door towards her tent. Knowing that he’s lost yet another fight with her, he wastes no time turning and slamming his fist into metal wall of the drop ship (a decision that proves to be a very poor one and is followed by a loud “Fuck!” as he feels his knuckles bruising and his fingers breaking).

            Octavia notices his injury that night and tells him to suck it up and go get it bandaged by Clarke.

            He tells her to fuck off.

            Which then leads to her storming out of camp and him telling her to come back and not to be stupid. His words fall on deaf ears as his younger sister disappears into the forest (he assumes to go visit her Grounder boyfriend) and he runs his uninjured hand over his face in frustration (he never apologizes to Octavia, though he knows that a) he should and b) she’ll forgive him anyway. he’s stupid in that way. and selfish.).

            In the end, it’s Clarke that finds him. She starts rambling about how they need to bring in the border patrol because it’s the third time a kid has been injured in a Grounder trap since they tried to expand their territory when she suddenly stops midsentence.

            He brings his gaze back to her (he’s found it harder to look at her while she’s talking. it’s much easier to focus while looking over her shoulder instead of into those stunning blue eyes that seem to-what the fuck is he saying?) and snaps, “What?”

            She reaches down to grab his hand, but as soon as her skin touches his he jerks away as if burned. “What did you do this time, Bellamy?” she asks. Her voice is so soft, so tired it scares him (he likes it much more when she is full of fire, brows furrowed, light blazing behind her eyes).

            “It’s nothing,” he tries to shrug it off, moving to step around her.

            She moves with him and blocks his path (Damn her. Damn her, damn her, damn her.) “It’s something,” she says, wrapping her small fingers around his wrist before he can pull away.

            Holding his hand close to her face, she inspects the damage and he lets out an annoyed huff, looking around to make sure no one is watching (they’re all absorbed in themselves and Monty’s new batch of moonshine. he’s safe for now.)

            “You broke your thumb and may have fractured your wrist,” she declares. She adjusts her grasp to his forearm as not to hurt him and all but drags him towards the drop ship.

            He tries to tell her that he’s fine (he doesn’t like the way her soft skin feels against his and he knows that’s definitely not something he should be focusing on right now) and to let him go, but she insists, never letting him out of her death grip.

            He hates her.

            As he sits on the metal table in the drop ship, he watches her and tries to fight off the thoughts of her doing much less professional acts with those soft hands of hers. She wraps bandage around his wrist and he hisses with pain when she sets his thumb, using as small slab of bark to keep it straight.

            “That temper of yours is going to get you into trouble,” she says.

            He grunts in response and wonders why she would care.

            There is silence between them. She is finished but he doesn’t want to go, so instead he finds himself with his eyes locked with hers, both of them waiting for the other to break away.

            “It already has,” she whispers.

            He can’t hold her gaze and he turns his head, looking down to the ground. A thousand thoughts pass through his mind (she cares far too much, he cares far too little. the combination frightens him.) until he finally finds his voice again. “Why do you care?”

            A sad smile crosses her lips. “I don’t,” she says.

            What kills him is that she’s not even trying to hide the fact that it’s a lie.

            But they live the lie. It’s all they’ve ever known.

\------------

            A week later she barges into his tent at dawn, telling the girl sprawled over his chest to get out (after a few moment of just staring in what he assumed to be shock and his ego would like to think was awe. he was shirtless after all.) and orders him to get dressed and get moving because she has a sick kid in the drop ship who needed more of some plant sounds like a sneeze. He briefly wonders if she was that pushy in bed before he instantly tries to banish the thought away.

            It doesn’t go away.

            Oh, he manages to suppress it for a while, pushing it to the back of his mind. But as they are hiking through the wood he finds it more and more difficult to control his thoughts of her (he watches the sway of her hips, hears the slightly heavier-than-normal breaths coming from her parted lips and dear God above, it’s giving him visions he knows he shouldn’t be having).

            “Here!” she says triumphantly, stopping so suddenly that he almost runs into her. Dropping her small shoulder bag to the ground, she runs up to the base of a nearby tree and he watches as she kneels down, her fingers delving into the soil and digging up a small brown and green plant.

            She is too absorbed in her work to notice him as he steps closer to her. “Hurry up, princess,” he murmurs. “We’re close to Grounder territory.”

            “We’ll be fine,” she brushes his concern off. “Their patrols never cross that creek by the big, dead tree. You know, the one about a quarter of a mile up.”

            His whole body jerks around to face her, about to ask her how the hell she knows that (she shouldn’t know that because that would mean that she saw them and that would mean that she had been in danger and god damn it, he shouldn’t care as much as he does.) when his breath catches in his throat.

            She shifts slightly and he has a clear view down the front of her shirt.

            He swallows hard, and for a moment, his mind goes completely blank. Then, all the visions of her suddenly break the dam in his mind and rush out (he should not be thinking this; he should _not_ be thinking this.).

            The girl doesn’t even notice his sudden change in behavior (his whole body becomes tense and his mouth becomes dry as a desert, but how would she know that?). “Ah…Wha…what were you doing that you saw a Grounder patrol?” He stumbles over his words more than he’d like to admit.

            She looks up at him, a sheepish grin on her face and he marvels that she literally has _no fucking idea_ what is going on in his head. “I may have snuck out here a few times on my own before. Just when you were too busy doing something to come with.”

            He’s able to prioritize her words over his sudden erotic fantasies (he’s thankful for something to think about other than her smell, her lips, the way her shirt would shift when she’d stretch and reveal the expanse skin just above her hips and _holy shit_ , he needs to get his head on straight.) and ask in disbelief, “When _I_ was busy?”

            This time she finds a sudden interest in a patch of dirt right in front of her and she moves slightly to stop working, instead just curling her fingers against the soil for a moment, (the view he has of her breasts is obscured and while he thanks every good thing on Earth for that, he also half wishes she hadn’t moved). “It’s not like I can really trust anyone else to have my back,” she mutters so softly he can barely hear it.

            This is not happening. She cannot trust him. He hates her. She hates him. Gravity increases with mass; it’s a law of the universe. Unalterable. Invariable. (he doesn’t know what he’ll do if it changes.)

            She finishes picking the plants she needs and they head back to camp together, neither of them saying a word. Before she steps into her tent, he grabs her arm and looks into her eyes (at this point he doesn’t even know what he’s doing himself). “Clarke,” he says (when did she become ‘Clarke’?), “I don’t care if I’m busy. Come and get me, okay?”

            Her lips part in surprise (he wonders what she would do if he just leaned in and kissed her, pulling her close to him and his tongue slipping into her mouth and stop it, for Christ’s sake this is _Clarke_ ), and all she does is nod.

            He leaves before he succumbs to his temptation.

\--------------------

            “Where the hell is Clarke?” he asks Octavia. He’s been asking for her with no avail and he is in no mood to have any more of his time wasted.

            His little sister looks at him with a raised brow. “Why do you want her?” she asks (of course she would ask. nobody else in the damn camp would ask, but of course she would.)

            He says some bullshit about food rations and winter (in truth, it worried him that he hadn’t seen her all morning).

            “She’s taking some much needed alone time in the woods,” Octavia sniffs, as if deeming his reasons for needing to talk to his co-leader inadequate. As he turns to leave she calls out after him, “Bellamy Blake, don’t you dare go after her. That girl deserves some time to herself!”

            “I’ll do whatever I damn well please,” he snaps (he won’t apologize later, he never apologizes) before storming out into the woods.

            He asks one of the kids on border patrol (which they had moved in on Clarke’s request) if they had seen a blonde hellcat nearby. The boy had snickered and pointed him in the right direction, saying that she said she wanted to be left alone.

            Like he ever took orders from Clarke anyway.

            He followed a trail until he stumbled upon a small pond where the river pooled next to a waterfall. He stops in his tracks, his entire body going tense, as he suddenly understands what is going on.

            Lying on a rock, a ray of sunlight falling directly on it, is a pair of neatly folded pants, a long-sleeved shirt…

            …and a pair of white underwear.

            He whirls around and presses his back behind a tree.

            _Shit._

_Shit, shit, shit, shit, fuck, shit._

            This was not happening.

            Peaking around the tree, he sees a head pop up from underneath the water, wet blonde hair glinting in the sunlight. The princess runs her fingers through her mane before turning and walking towards the shore. The water that was once up to her shoulders rapidly descends, and Bellamy finds himself enraptured.

            He tears himself away before he can see anything though because this is _Clarke_. The Clarke that he hates. The Clarke that hates him. The Clarke that he most definitely does not find attractive and he sure as hell doesn’t dream about.

            But then he thinks about the fact that she is standing feet away from him, completely naked, and all self-control vanishes from him.

            Leaning around the tree, he catches a glimpse of the princess’s blonde hair and fair skin, along with a nice view of her toned ass. She has her back to him and holy shit, he’s never been so turned on in his life.

            His heart begins beating wildly as he realizes that he needs to get the hell out of there before she realizes that she’s got a Peeping Tom. But as he moves to leave, his foot steps on a dry patch of leaves and a deafening _crunch_ sounds through the clearing.

            He freezes.

            He hears her turn around.

            He hears a, “Hello?” and a few steps towards his direction.

            He hears silence.

            He nearly sighs out loud in relief as he hears her mutter something about “being paranoid” and “probably a stupid rabbit.” Very carefully, he works his way back into the forest and makes a point to arrive in camp a long while after her and ask her where the hell she was.

            Their conversation about rations is very short and Bellamy refuses to look anywhere but her eyes (it takes more self-control than he thought he had.).

            As he goes to bed that night, he’s plagued with fantasies of the blonde princess and her bright blue eyes and fair skin.

            He hates her more than ever.

 -----------------

            It’s one of their party nights because Monty needed to try a new recipe for moonshine (that’s literally all the reason these kids need to get drunk now) and because, to be honest, they all need a reason to loosen up. Everywhere, kids have canteens and makeshift cups filled with whiskey and are downing it like it’s water.

            Bellamy Blake, however, has not had a single drink.

            He knows that he can’t trust himself, not after the whole pond-incident with Clarke (if sober him could barely control himself around her, he’d hate to see what drunk him would do). So instead he sits at the edge of camp, watching at a distance and making sure nothing gets too out of control.

            From across the camp, he sees her smiling, the light from the fire casting glow like a halo around her hair (he wonders what that hair would look like spread across his pillow, with her naked underneath him, moaning his name and holy. fucking. shit. he needs to _stop._ ). For a while he continues to watch her, satisfied with just admiring the way her eyes lit up when she smiled, the curve of her jaw and the arc of her breasts.

            (By this time he’s convinced himself it’s purely a physical attraction. She’s an appealing girl who he’s forced to spend more time than he’d like with and he’s simply a man. He’s convinced himself that this is one of the most basic impulses of a human, a primal urge that he’ll be able to fight off for as long as he needs to. This is lust. He can control it.)

            But then he sees the smile on her lips die as an obnoxiously drunk boy begins moving into her personal space (he ignores the twist in his gut, refusing to acknowledge it). She tries to move away from the boy, but he keeps moving closer, until her chest his all but pressed against his and her back is against the wall of the drop ship.

            Bellamy’s hand tightens on his gun and he begins to walk towards them (he tells himself he’d do the same for Octavia). He manages to stem his rage, to keep it all tied down, until he is about three yards away from them and the boy leans forward and kisses a trapped Clarke.

            He sees red (it’s the most violent shade of red he’s ever known).

            His still healing hand slams into the boy’s face and he feels the bones in his fingers break (again) and his wrist sprain (he doesn’t give a fuck.). He doesn’t know what’s going on until Clarke is pulling him off of the boy and he’s screaming, telling her attacker a few of the extremely gruesome ways he plans to kill him.

            She tries to pull him towards the drop ship, but this time he’s not taking it. He breaks free of her grasp and stomps out of camp.

            He makes sure he’s far enough away from camp before he starts screaming.

            He screams at the top of his lungs, his hands clutching his head, pulling at his hair because he doesn’t know _what the fuck is going on_. He screams because nothing is good enough anymore and the rage he feels inside him is all consuming yet inexplicable _._ He screams because they aren’t going to get out alive, there is no one coming down to save them and they can’t survive on their own.

            He screams because in the end, he knows she won’t survive (the good ones never survive).

            Collapsing against a tree, he lets all the weight of a hundred lives he is somehow supposed to protect and save settle down on his shoulders (hers is by far the heaviest). For what seems like hours he just sits there, letting the confusion, the rage and the sheer sense of despair consume him.

            (He rarely lets himself be consumed by his emotions. He shuts it all down and makes whatever choice he needs to. But somehow, when he’s around her, he simply can’t do that.)

            When he finally comes back to camp, everyone is already asleep. He grabs a half-filled cup of moonshine and drains it on the spot. Arriving at his tent, he pulled back the fabric covering the entrance and freezes.

            Clarke is sitting on his bed.

            _Clarke_ is sitting on his _bed_.

            What. The. Fuck?

            He wonders if this is really happening or if half a cup of alcohol is enough to get him hallucinating nowadays because _so many_ of his dreams have started off like this. But as he steps into the tent (she stands, her eyes wide and her lips parted) the sent of herbs fills his nose and the entire tent seems to suddenly be a lot hotter than he remembered.

            “Clarke?” he asks (he’s still not 100% sure she’s really there).

            She just bites her lip and averts her eyes from his. Her cheeks are flushed and red, and she is blinking rapidly (he wishes he could hear her thoughts, maybe then he could get an idea of what in the world is going on). She opens her mouth as if she is about to say something, only to close it again, her eyes still not meeting his.

            Suddenly, he remembers that a boy had forced himself on her earlier that night and he curses himself for being so stupid (he curses himself for hoping it could be more). Of course she was scared. And of course she would go to him (after all, it was her who said that she’d only trust him to have her back).

            “Clarke,” he whispers, stepping closer to her. They are a few feet apart, but he doesn’t touch her in case of frightening her. He opens his mouth to say something, to comfort her, to tell her that he’s not going to hurt her, but she cuts him off.

            “You’re always protecting me,” she mumbles, her eyes glued to the ground (he doesn’t know if she’s talking to him or herself). “You always keep me safe. Even when you hated me, even when you wanted me dead and out of the way…you still protected me, saved my life even.” She sounds so confused and lost, he gets the idea she doesn’t understand whatever she’s feeling herself.

            He knows he should push her away (he’ll destroy her if he doesn’t), tell her that he still does hate her and that it’s simply more convenient to have her alive than it would be to have her dead. But instead, he finds himself asking, “What do you want?” in a voice so soft (damn it, this is Earth. he can’t show any form of vulnerability, he learned that long ago.) that it scares him. His eyes drill into her smaller form when she does not answer. “Princess…” he says, his voice making the single word a plea, a prayer.

            She jerks up to meet his gaze and for a moment he is both startled and afraid of the storm of emotions that break behind those aqua eyes.

            Then she takes two strides towards him, throws her arms around his neck and kisses him.

(she tastes like moonshine and mint.)

            His entire body stiffens against hers for a moment (her breasts are pressed against his chest and her lips firmly against his) and he feels her begin to pull away from him.

            Damn him to hell if he’d let her slip through his fingers now of all times.

            Anchoring his uninjured hand in in her hair (he wraps the other around her waist to pull her body against his), he kisses her harshly, almost violently (he’s waited, starved himself off for too long to take this slowly). His teeth clash against hers and he feels her smile against his lips.

            She falls back onto his bed and he on top of her as his lips leave hers and move to her neck. He doesn’t know what’s happening, and before he realizes what’s going on, both of their shirts are off as well as her pants. He pulls away, marveling at the fact that he has _Clarke Griffin_ underneath him in nothing but her panties. She lets out a small whimper and writhes in the covers, letting him know that his sudden absence of attention did not go unnoticed.

            He chuckles darkly before kissing her, his tongue brushing over her bottom lip. Pulling away, he quietly whispers, “You sure you want this, princess?”

            She curls her fingers against his neck, her nails scraping at his skin. “I trust you,” is her answer.

            “Big mistake,” he murmurs, his mouth on her skin and she laughs out loud.

            He hates her.

            (It’s even better than his dreams.)

\------------------------

            He wakes the next morning and she’s gone (his initial thought is that it was all another dream, but then finds her necklace lost in his covers and he knows it couldn’t have been).

            It had taken him a total of a minute and twenty-two seconds to pull his clothing on and stumble out of his tent in an attempt to find her (he needs to remind himself that she’s real, that she’s more than some dream he’s made up in his head to escape this hell). When he locates her, she’s looking at a boy’s leg injury near the drop ship.

            “Bellamy,” she says in surprise as he approaches her. Her eyes dart down and then she turns her back and continues inspecting her patient. “Can I help you?” she asks, the tone of her voice telling him that she doesn’t want an actual answer to the question, and her eyes never move from the wound on the boy’s leg. He doesn’t say anything (what can he say? she’s acting like nothing happened.).

            Just standing there, a thousand different responses pass through his head (you could come back to my tent and let me do that one thing I did with my mouth that you liked so much last night again. you could acknowledge that something actually happened and it wasn’t all in my head. you could tell me if you’re feeling a wave of regret or if you’re feeling incredibly satisfied like myself. you could tell me why the hell you let me fuck you last night and then pretended it didn’t happen in the morning.) but he doesn’t say any of them. He feels a burning rage inside of his chest (how dare she treat him like he was nothing? how dare she treat him like he’s treated ever other girl that wasn’t her?) and he just says, “No”, turns on his heel, and walks away.

            He doesn’t look back.

            The next few weeks are hard. They don’t talk unless to coordinate camp plans, and even those conversations he makes sure are strained and short. Octavia comes to him halfway through the second week and tells him that whatever his problem is with Clarke, he needs to fix it ASAP, because the entire camp is suffering due to the new coldness between himself and his co-leader.

            He doesn’t do anything about it. Octavia stays pissed (and he doesn’t apologize).

            It’s not until three weeks later, when he catches Clarke heading out of camp alone (a bag slung over her shoulder and dark circles underneath her eyes) that he decides something needs to be done.

            “Where are you going?” he asks gruffly, grabbing her arm to stop her.

            She looks surprised (he hasn’t initiated any conversation between them in almost two months). “I…I was going to the river to get more of that seaweed. Alex’s leg looks like it’s getting infected and I thought that-“

            “You’re not going alone,” he cuts her off, not really caring about this Alex’s leg. He grabs a gun from a kid coming in from patrol and slings it over his shoulder. “The river?” he asks.

            “Yeah.”

            He turns and walks out of camp, assuming she’s following behind him but never looking to check.

            They walk for a while in silence, the only between them being that of birds chirping and twigs cracking beneath their feet. At first, he finds it a little awkward, but eventually, he grows used to it, and almost even appreciates it (he thinks back to time when he told her to come to him if she ever needed to go out to the forest. she had a few times after, but since their fall out, he knew she had been going alone.).

            “Why are you such a dick all of a sudden?” she asks out of the blue and he can hear the anger (the fire) in her voice.

            “Why did you pretend like nothing happened?” He doesn’t even look back at her (he just continues to put one foot in front of the other, just like he always has).

            She snorts. “Is _that_ what this is all about?” she asks in disbelief. She grabs his arm and he jerks away on instinct, but she gets what she wanted when he finally turned around, acknowledging her existence of his own free will for the first time in months.

            He isn’t sure what to say, so he just studies her, letting his eyes rake up and down her body as he remembers the way she looked that night. He sees her look away and shift her weight from one foot to the other (she knows exactly what he’s thinking about and it’s making her uncomfortable).

            “It was a mistake,” she finally snaps.

            He steps towards her, his body moving like a panther that’s just spotted its prey. “Oh, really?” he asks, his tone suggesting that he does not believe her in the slightest.

            “Yes, really!”

            His body is inches away from hers and he’s got to admit, he surprised she’s held her ground. As he leans in close, her sent hits him hard and he inhales it, letting her seep into his lungs as he appreciates the slight hitch in her breathing. He’s having quite the effect on her and he’s loving it (her hair is pushed behind her ear and suddenly he wants to pull her close and bury his face in the crook of her neck. wait, fuck no, he can’t be thinking this right now! he needs to remain the predator in this situation.). “You’re lying,” he breathes in her ear before he pulls away, leaving her slightly shaken as he turns and continues walking towards the river.

            “I’m not lying,” she calls, stumbling after him. “It’s the truth.”

            He stops so suddenly (whirling around because, damn it, he needs to know!) that she almost runs into him. “Was it really that bad, princess?” he snaps, hiding the hurt in his voice behind anger (anger is something he knows, something he can control).

            “W-what?” she asks, her eyes wide and her voice stuttering.

            A sneer distorts his features before he clenches his jaw and replies, “I said, was it really that bad?”

            “What? N-no! Oh, God no. Holy shit, Bellamy, it was amazing.”

            He feels sense of sickness to his stomach disappear in an instant and he has to physically force his features not to show his relief.

            “It’s just that…” she trails off, as if searching for the right words. Her tongue darts out and wets her lips before she brings her eyes up to meet his, words spilling out of her mouth, “It’d throw off our dynamic, Bellamy! You know it would!”

            He takes a step closer to her (he wants her to feel the heat, the desire that he feels). “Dynamic?” he asks, a brow raised in both question and skepticism.

            “Yes, our dynamic!” She’s starting to sound exasperated and he holds back a chuckle (she’s cute when she’s angry). “The whole leader-slash-co-leader thing? It we were sleeping together…well, it wouldn’t exactly work, would it?”

            Moving even closer to her, there are only inches between their bodies and judging by the way her eyes are darting from his to his lips, he knows she’s feeling it too, the raw tension between them that’s only grown as they’ve worked together, as they’ve survived together. “It’s already not working, Clarke,” he whispers, using her actual name (it slides off his tongue and it tastes sweeter than anything he’s tasted on Earth).

            “Well, it should now that you know what’s going on.”

            “Knowing what’s going on isn’t going to help much when all I can think about is the way you look naked underneath me every time you’re within five feet.”

            She swallows hard. He knows she wasn’t expecting that. “Well…” she breathes out (she is so impossibly close to him), “how do you suggest we make it work?”

            “We should make mistakes more often.”

            Her mouth is slightly open and her tongue darts out, wetting her lips. “I get the feeling that won’t help your problem.”

            His mouth is hairsbreadth away from hers (he thinks he can see the heat simmering in the space between them and he knows he’s falling deeper into a pit he won’t be able to climb out of) and she’s staring at his lips (she’s not even trying to make it discreet anymore).

            “Never know unless you try,” he tries to joke (he’s not joking.)

            “Bellamy…”

            The way she says his name sends him over the edge (he’s found he has no control when it comes to her). He crashes into her, pressing her body against the nearest tree, tasting every inch of her skin his mouth can reach (five and a half weeks without her was hell).

            He hears her moaning his name and he feels his control slipping. With what little restraint he has left, he manages to pull away and look down at the woman in his arms (her lips are swollen and red and she’s looking at him through half-lidded eyes, her breathing coming in heavy pants).

            “What do you say, princess?” he asks, his voice sounding strange in his ears (it’s darker, lower, husky even). “You want to make a few more mistakes with me?”

            “Shut up and fuck me,” is her response.

            (he does.)

\---------------------

            They try to keep it a secret from the rest of the camp, but everyone notices that things suddenly start running a lot more smoothly after Bellamy and Clarke disappeared into the woods for four hours one day.

            The rumors fly.

            For the most part, they stay subtle (oh, there was one time when a kid made a particularly graphic jibe about Clarke finally getting the fucking she needed and Bellamy had decked him on the spot. he made it clear then that anyone can make up any rumors they’d like about anything they’d like, but he did not, under any circumstance, want to hear about them.) and he is able to ignore them. It is almost amusing to watch the camp split up on their different opinions about the relationship between the two co-leaders.

            There are people like Spacewalker, who defends Clarke’s virtue at all costs (it make Bellamy laugh, especially because he knows just how sinful his princess can be).

            There are people like Raven, who just shrug and maybe smirk when asked for an opinion.

            There are people like Jasper, who says, “It wouldn’t surprise me,” when asked if he thought the two were sleeping together.

            And then there are people like Octavia, who would go into explicit detail of everything she thinks (and hopes) they are doing.

            (At one point, he actually approached her and told her that she needed to keep her dirty little thoughts to herself as if was giving half the camp nightmares and turning the other half on. She told him to fuck off. And she didn’t apologize either. She was too much like him.)

            Clarke takes it surprisingly well (he would’ve thought the slander going around would mean more to her than it did.). He had asked about it, one night when she had snuck to his tent and was lying in his arms. She had smiled and told him the girls could say whatever they wanted, she was the one who got to fall asleep in his bed every night.

            He had laughed at that (he also had to remind himself to not take her words for more than they were).

            As the weeks pass, he finds himself relying more and more on her. The nights that she does not come to him, he finds himself becoming irritable and short-tempered the next day (one time she had gone a week without coming to his tent and by the end, he had waited until everyone else was asleep, gone to her tent and dragged her out in the woods to taste her, all the while hating the little smirk on her face). In his extra time, he finds himself wandering over to the drop ship to help her clean her tools, or ask her if she needs any more herbs from the forest (she always is accusing him of wanting to get her alone when he suggests they go look for seaweed and he makes a point never to deny it.)

            One night, instead of waiting for her to come to his tent, he goes to hers. She looks surprised to see him, but grabbing her hand, he shushes her before softly whispering, “Come with me. I have something to show you.”

            He leads her into the forest, glowing worms clinging to the trees, illuminated butterflies flittering around their heads. He leads her down the trail he had stormed down a lifetime ago when he could not find her at camp.

            When they arrive at the pond, her eyes widen in realization. “That was you?” she asks.

            His heart skips a beat as he looks at her, a mixture of incredulity and amusement on her face (he swears she’s the most beautiful thing that exists in this galaxy). “Yeah,” he replies, his voice slightly sheepish. “That was me.”

            She steps forward, letting go of his hand, and pull her shirt over her head (he watches from behind her, admiring the way her lean muscles move and ripple). She steps out of her pants, taking her underwear with them, glances over her shoulder and says, “Care to join me this time?”

            He doesn’t need a second invitation.

            His clothes are on the ground next to hers in a matter of seconds and he follows her into the cool water. He laughs when she splashes him (she’s the only one who can make him laugh. hell, she’s the only one who can make him smile.) and sprays her back.

            After a particularly big wave is sent his way, he lets out a growl and dives after her, her blonde hair disappearing underwater. She manages to evade him for a while, but soon enough, he catches her, pulling her close against his body as she lets out a playful squeal followed by a laugh.

            “I got you,” he teases, planting a quick kiss on her nose.

            Her laughter finally dies down, but the smile that stays on her face is so sweet, so genuine it takes his breath away. “Yeah,” she whispers. “You do.”

            As he looks at her in the moonlight (the pale light gives her skin a beautiful glow he’s never seen before), he’s suddenly struck by a wave of emotions he can’t hold back anymore. He studies her, totally in awe of how such a beautiful creature like her could ever want a broken man like him.

            He wants to tell her how much she means to him, but he doesn’t know how (he could speak every language known to man and still not be able to find the right words.) “Clarke…” he tries to begin, but she kisses him, silencing his voice and making his mind go blank (she is the only thing he allows himself to get lost in. her taste, her smell, everything that she is overloads his senses and he finds that he never wants to let her go).

            When she pulls away, she presses her forehead against his and whispers, “I know, Bellamy. I know.”

            He doubts it (but he prays that she does).

\-----------------------------

            He had been hunting when everything had gone wrong.

            First off, they had an uneven number in their hunting party because one of the kids had been bitching about a scratch on his leg and Bellamy had gotten so frustrated, he had just sent the kid back to camp to check in with Clarke. So when they had to split up to try and trap the boar they were tracking, Bellamy, being both the leader and the best shot, naturally went alone.

            When he hears the horn, he begins to run.

            He knows he is in Grounder territory (the boar had crossed over a couple miles back, but he knows how hungry the Hundred are and he can’t face them with empty hands _again_. Plus he was alone, so what the hell, why not?

            As he sprints through the woods, he suddenly has a lot of very good reasons “why not.”

            He hears a scream from behind him and he swears under his breath. It would appear that he isn’t the only one who had followed the boar farther than he should’ve.

            Bellamy Blake had many flaws. But he was nothing if not loyal.

            So after a moment’s hesitation, he turns and runs back towards the scream.

            He enters a clearing to see four Grounders closing in on a wounded Harper and a desperate Miller. Quickly assessing the situation, he sees that Harper’s only injury was an arrow lodged in her bicep (it must have been a scream of pain he heard). If the two of them can get a clear path, they’ll be able to make it back to camp.

            “Hey!” he yells at the Grounders, firing a shot at one of them (he knows he has to save his ammo, but he also has to get their attention before they kill two of his friends). “Hey! Over here!”

            He accomplishes his goal. Three of the four Grounders turn to look at him while the fourth drops dead, a bullet to his head. Then, they all begin running towards him.

            _Shit_.

            He turns and runs for his life.

            He runs though rivers and jumps over fallen trees. He sees some traps from a mile away and he misses others by barely inches. He runs until his lungs burn, his heart beats like a war drum and his world begins to spin.

            Then he thinks of Clarke and her impossibly blue eyes and he runs even more.

            He runs for hours until he is sure he has lost the Grounders following him. Then he finds a cave, stumbles into the safety and passes out (he dreams of her begging him to keep fighting, to come home. he promises her he doesn’t plan on giving up anytime soon).

            When he wakes up, his head is pounding and night has fallen. Slowly standing to his feet, he steps out of the cave and looks up at the night sky.

            He has absolutely no idea where he is.

            (Later, he’ll silently thank the nameless girl who had relieved him from his post one night, and offhandedly mentioned the bright star that she said always pointed north). He looks at a glowing light in the sky, makes a guess, and begins walking.

            Eventually he stumbles through a creek he hopes he knows. Glowing butterflies flitter around his head and make him think of a blonde girl who probably thinks he’s dead and gone by now. He prays that she’ll stay strong if he dies, if he isn’t able to return to her (he prays to a god he doesn’t know more in that one night than he has in his entire life).

            He feels like he is going to faint.

            But he doesn’t.

            (he needs to get back to her.)

            He is sure he is going to die at least a hundred different times. But he presses onwards (one foot in front of the other. just like he always has.). He keeps moving and every time he thinks he can’t take another step, her smile appears in his mind and he finds he is able to take just one more (it is an endless cycle that keeps him alive).

            He arrives at camp just as the sun breaks over the treetops.

            He hears voices calling to open the gates. Excited shouts call his name coupled with orders like “Give him room!” and “Somebody grab some water!”

            Looking up, he only has eyes for one thing.

            She is standing frozen on the other end of camp, her blonde hair blowing around her head like she’s some sort of ethereal spirit (he realizes at that moment that he is much more exhausted than he thinks because she looks more like an angel that a human to him and he can’t help but question whether or not he’s actually dead.).

            Then she is running towards him, her arms pumping and her eyes filling with tears as she crashes into him, wrapping herself around his shoulders and her fingernails clawing at his back through his shirt. Her arms are crushing the life out of him and he doesn’t even care as she sobs into his shoulder.

            “You’re home,” she chokes out (she sounds like she doesn’t believe it herself, like she is afraid to believe it).

            He holds her tighter. “I’m home,” he murmurs into her. “I’m home, I’m home, I’m home.”

            In her arms, he’s home.

            Later that night, he finds her in his arms yet again. As he traces constellations on her skin, his fingertips dance across the plain her back and shoulders (she is more beautiful than any star in the universe). He feels her fingers curl against his bare chest and she nestles into him, her head resting on his chest.

            She is the one who breaks the silence. “If you had died-“

            He instantly shushes her. “I didn’t,” his all he whispers before tightening his arms around her (he needs to remind her that he’s real, that he’s not some dream she’s made up inside her head to escape this hell).

            “But if you had..” the sheer fear in her voice causes him to pull away, making her sit up. He puts a finger underneath her chin and forces her to lift her face, her eyes meeting his.

            “Clarke,” he whispers (he is grateful that the night has proved trustworthy to keep all their secrets thus far). “I promise, I will never leave you.”

            “You can’t promise that.” (he hears the tears in her voice and it breaks his heart).

            “Maybe not,” he murmurs in return, finally acknowledging that he really has no control over anything here on Earth. “But I promise that I will never stop fighting, that I’ll never give up. I swear, Clarke, if I have to climb over the gates of hell to get home, I will and no matter how long it takes me, I’ll come back. I’ll always come back to you because I-“ he suddenly cuts off, realizing what he was about to say.

            There are tears in her eyes (those bright blue eyes that both frighten and exhilarate him) as she whispers, “I know, Bellamy. I know. You don’t have to say it.”

            “I should,” his voice cracks (damn him. he’s such a coward. he knows it’s true, so why can’t he say the words?) “It’s the truth, I should be able to say it.” He buries his face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “You deserve so much better than this.”

            (he’ll apologize to her.).

            She grabs his face in her hands, such deep passion and emotion in those eyes. “I wish…” her voice catches and she pauses for a moment, biting her lower lip as she stares into his eyes (he swears she is looking into his soul). “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. So strong. So compassionate. So valiant.” She smiles through the tears that are slipping from her eyes and whispers, “My knight in shining armor.”

            “You deserve so much more,” he repeats, his voice cracking (she deserves so much more than this life gave her.)

            “You’re all I want,” she replies. “You’re all I need.”

            Reaching out, she begins to rub small circles in his back, calming him. “I don’t think I can say it either,” she confesses, a far away look in her eyes. “Love doesn’t come easily for people like us.” She seems to snap back to reality and looks at him, such tenderness in her expression that he feels all the walls he’s put up around his heart crumble to dust. “But I do think it will come. And so will the words.”

            (he wishes he could believe he deserves someone like her.)

            “Maybe it will come,” he says finally. “But until then, I want you to know this: Clarke Griffin, you are strong and smart and beautiful and brave and you matter more to me than anyone else on this earth. I don’t know what I would do without you. You ground me, you inspire me, you help me make better choices, good choices. _You’re_ good. And I’m telling you now that if I die, you will be okay. Don’t give me that look, you will be. You will be because you’re the stronger of the two of us and you will never need me as much as I need you. Jesus Christ, Clarke, I need you so much. I don’t know what I would do if-“

            She cuts his tirade short by knocking him backwards into the bed, her lips against his (it’s a feeling he’ll never get used to, no matter how many times he’s kissed her).

            When she finally pulls away, he looks into her eyes and marvels at how something so incredible, so full of light, so _good_ could happen to him.

            “I need you, Clarke Griffin,” he whispers (he wishes he could tell her the three different words he knows she deserves to hear. he hopes that one day he’ll be able to. until then, these three words will have to do.)

            “I need you too, Bellamy Blake,” she whispers back.

            (He thanks whatever God there is out there for giving him something as perfect as her.)

            “Good,” he says. “Because if you didn’t that would-“

            She laughs and kisses him, telling him to shut up.

            He hates her.

            (no he doesn’t. he loves her.)


End file.
